Maggie, forgive me.

I can't wait to get my [autographed!] copy of Mighty Girl Maggie Mason's book. She's quite something. I think she is so very civilized in the most down-to-earth way. Her voice is true and clear, sort of like a journalistic version of Suzanne Vega. But saucier.

Notice the title? I have restrained myself from writing too much about food, although in the space of only 4 posts I have already mentioned pizza. I have not told you about my trip to London and the best espresso I had there nor my recent visit to The Spotted Pig nor have I confessed yet about my short-lived but madcap Cream of Wheat obsession. Restraint has now taken a back seat: I feel compelled to tell you what was cooking today because I hardly ever cook. And I truly have no idea what I'm doing. Seventeen years ago someone gave me a wok. I would say 98% of this item's raison d'etre has been to pop corn. Today the other 2% was going to get some exercise.

I'm not a daily breakfast person. Coffee with cream is the usual. But today I had to have eggs. First, I had to buy the eggs, of course, because it's my fridge we're talking about. I have a rather minimalist inventory, and yet, I did have a few interesting items on hand. In a fit of culinary whimsy I hauled out the wok. So today's scrambled eggs included three artichoke hearts, a few spoonfuls of white beans in vinaigrette, rough sea salt, and a healthy dash of hot sauce on half of a Marco Polo bagel.













I'm happy to report that I didn't burn anything, including my house.